Chapter 4 - The Traitor in the Hall
The iron gates of the Moretti estate swung open under the midnight sky. The grand villa, built of honey-colored Sicilian stone and surrounded by centuries-old olive trees, looked peaceful from the outside. But inside, a storm was waiting.
Alessandro’s convoy swept up the long, cypress-lined driveway. The headlights illuminated the grand fountain in the courtyard.
Before the vehicles even came to a complete stop, Alessandro stepped out. His long coat trailed behind him like a shadow. Gianni and ten heavily armed security guards flanked him, their faces grim, their weapons held at low ready.
The heavy oak front doors of the villa were opened by a terrified junior guard. He took one look at Alessandro’s face and immediately stepped aside, lowering his head.
"Where is Marco?" Alessandro asked, his voice echoing in the grand, marble-floored foyer.
"In the study, Signor Moretti," the guard stammered. "He... he wasn't expecting you back until Friday."
Alessandro walked down the long, high-ceilinged corridor. This was the hallway where, just months ago, little Emma had built her tower of shell casings. Now, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of impending violence.
Alessandro pushed the double doors of his private study open.
Marco Varga was sitting behind Alessandro’s desk, a glass of expensive scotch in his hand, looking over some shipping ledgers. When the doors flew open, he jumped up, his face draining of color. He quickly tried to compose himself, a greasy smile stretching across his face.
"Alessandro!" Marco gasped, putting the glass down. "What... what a surprise. I thought you were in Milan finalizing the Volkov contract. Did something go wrong?"
Alessandro did not answer. He walked slowly into the room, his eyes locked on Marco. He didn’t sit in the leather chair across from the desk. Instead, he walked over to the side table, pouring himself a glass of water.
"Do you know what I like about this room, Marco?" Alessandro asked, his back to his underboss.
"Alessandro, I don't understand—"
"It has history," Alessandro cut him off, turning around. He held up his hand, the silver wolf ring catching the firelight. "My father sat in that chair. Your father stood by that door, protecting him. For thirty years, our families have built this castle. Together."
Marco swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the door, where Gianni and three guards now stood, blocking any exit. "Of course, Alessandro. And I have always been loyal to that legacy."
"Then explain this," Alessandro said, tossing a folder onto the desk.
The folder slid across the polished mahogany, stopping right in front of Marco. It was the medical file of Sofia Varga, along with the bank transactions linking Volkov’s holding company to the Palermo hospital.
Marco’s hand shook as he reached for the folder. He opened it, and as he read the documents, his knees seemed to give out. He slumped back into the leather chair, his face pale and sweating.
"I... I had no choice, Alessandro," Marco whispered, his voice cracking. "Sofia is dying. The doctors in Italy gave up on her. The only clinic that can save her is in Zurich, and they demanded half a million euros just to start the trial. I didn't have the money."
"So you sold my ports to the Russians," Alessandro said, his voice flat. "You sold the routes my father died protecting."
"Volkov promised no one would get hurt!" Marco pleaded, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. "He just wanted the transport access. He offered me the money. I was going to pay it back, I swear!"
"And Elena?" Alessandro stepped closer, his shadow falling over the desk. "Why frame a defenseless woman who has served this family for years? Why bruise her face and throw her and her child out into the street?"
"I had to create a distraction!" Marco cried, covering his face with his hands. "You are too sharp, Alessandro. If everything was quiet at the estate, you would have looked too closely at the Milan contract. I needed you to be angry, to be focused on a betrayal at home so you would just sign the Russian deal and get back here to deal with it. I was going to quiet Elena down with a payoff later, I swear to you!"
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Alessandro leaned down, placing both hands on the desk, staring directly into the eyes of the man he had trusted most.
"You took Volkov's dirty money to save your wife," Alessandro whispered. "But you used my mother's diamond bracelet to destroy an innocent family. You allowed your thugs to lay a hand on Elena. That is not a distraction, Marco. That is treason."
